You didn’t smack me in the face,
Or break a bone or burn my skin.
But you left footprints of abuse,
All over me when I let you in.
Like a guest that burned my house down.
And the saddest fucking thing?
You’re not evil but you’re sick.
My goodness held me hostage,
I wish that I’d have called the police.
It was never my job to fix you,
But you threatened to take our lives.
I ‘made you’ do some awful things,
I’m almost alright, almost all the time.